


Back Up

by calicadria



Category: Endless Summer (Visual Novel), PlayChoices
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Language, Sexual Content, Straight Relationships, also she's got such a high threat level in those dossiers, anyway um, didn't want to post this on tumblr because children, i know i can't believe it either, i'm not very explicit but it is sexual content, idk i was inspired by something i was reading on here the other day, okay i know i tagged sean and michelle, she could break every bone in my body and i'd thank her, sort of, they're barely in it but, whatever I love michelle i wish she was a dating option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicadria/pseuds/calicadria
Summary: "Why are you backing up a guy like that?"





	Back Up

_Why are you backing up a guy like…? Oh. Right. I get it._

You tear your eyes away from Sean across the room, where he sits in a booth beside Michelle and nods silently along with something she’s saying. You feel bad. Partially because you’re now sitting all alone, and partially because you know it’s all your own fault.

You just can’t help that your stomach turns around Jake – he makes you question yourself and everything you’ve ever felt, all your thoughts and dreams and plans, and the person you are. You look at him and are ready to drop everything if he asks. And that is a terrifying thought. He’d been rude to Sean – your _friend_ – and rather than backing Sean up, you’d taken Jake’s side just so he’d like you more. And not just then, but _every time_. You’d gone jet-skiing rather than searching for escape routes off the island. And through all the sacrifices you’d made to your integrity, you were frustrated to find yourself getting nowhere with the pilot. What was he so afraid of? Did he not want to get involved with someone younger? You can tell he’s never been particularly adamant about professionalism. Maybe he just doesn’t _like_ you. In that case, you’ve got a lot of back tracking to do, starting with a few apologies.

Perhaps a few apologies are in order anyway.

You stand slowly from your table, dropping your plate at the dish return on your way by. Sean looks up as you approach, and though you and Michelle get on quite well when he’s not around, she bristles slightly to see you making your way toward him.

“Hi, Michelle,” you say, sure to greet her first. She relaxes a little and smiles faintly at you, but remains with one hand on Sean’s forearm. “Hey, Sean.” He fixes a void stare on you, no warmth or anger in his eyes, only nothingness. It is perhaps the coldest look you’ve ever received.

“Look, I came to apologize.”

Sean sighs, folding his hands together on the table. “Well, I may need a little more time before I can accept an apology from you. You’ve been a real jerk.”

Michelle, confused, looks from you to Sean and back again, but has the sense not to pry.

“I know that.” You sigh. “But I’ll still say it. I’m sorry. I’ve been a real ass for a dumb reason and it was wrong of me to treat you like that. You were nothing but nice to me and I repaid you terribly.”

There’s a pause. “For what it’s worth, I get it,” Sean says at last, propping a little higher on his forearms. “You care about someone, you back them up. But you’ve gotta ask yourself at some point if it’s really worth giving up what you believe.” He looks you in the eyes again, and his gaze has softened considerably. “Jake is not the nicest guy. He makes bad choices, he gets into trouble. He won’t stand up for you the way you stand up for him. I’m worried for you.”

Michelle’s ears perk up in interest. “Sorry, did you say Jake? You’re interested in Jake?” She leans over the table to get a better look at you. “Oh my god, you’re blushing. I totally didn’t know you had a thing for Jake. You’d be good together.”

You know most of her enthusiasm stems from her desire to divert your attention away from Sean, but you almost appreciate the support. “Thanks,” you say weakly, wincing as you think about the pilot once again. Every time he crosses your mind, your stomach turns. He really makes you crazy, you think, and you can feel your body temperature rising just thinking about him. You wonder where he is, what he’s up to. Imagining him spending time with somebody other than you makes a jealous creature stir beneath your ribcage, but you silence it in favor of the conversation at hand.

“Sean’s right, though,” Michelle continues. “Jake’s not a nice guy. You better be careful.”

“I can handle myself,” you reply, bristling. “And it’s not that Jake’s not _nice._ He’s a little…morally ambiguous at times, but he really means well.”

“You truly believe that?” Sean asks, searching your face.

“I do,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze steadily. He nods, slow and thoughtful, in response.

“Anyway.” You clear your throat and back a step away from the table. “I just came to tell you guys I was sorry. I know we’ve all hit a bit of a rough patch here, but I have faith that we’re gonna get out of this okay.”

A pause, then a new voice rises behind you. “Bullshit, princess.”

You whirl to find Jake leaning in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his green bomber coat. He watches you with barely concealed interest, and you wonder how long he’s been listening in.

“Alternate theory?” you prompt him, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “Faith ain’t gonna get you anywhere. It’s luck you need.”

Sean scowls. “Wrong. It’s determination and hard work that get you where you need to go. We’re not going to fix anything by hoping for miracles.”

Jake grins, his eyes wicked. “What do you know about hard work and determination, Cap? You got a free ride through school for throwing a ball around.”

Sean begins to stand, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Jake,” you say evenly, leveling a glare on him, “apologize for that.”

“Wh…?” he begins, shaking his head in disbelief. Your expression does not soften. “I didn’t-”

“Now, please,” you press.

Jake looks from you to Sean, and you fully expect him to turn and leave. You’re surprised to hear him instead mutter a half-hearted apology under his breath.

“What was that?” you ask him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re right, Princess.” He’s clearly embarrassed by now, but manages somehow to sigh and turn to face Sean. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“ _What the hell_ ,” you hear Michelle whisper in a barely audible voice.

“Thank you.” You smile at Jake softly. “Did you…need something, then?”

“Oh. Um…” he again looks embarrassed, a look you’re not used to seeing on him. Perhaps flustered is a better word? Either way, he's clearly not used to being called out. “I was actually looking for you. Can we talk?”

“Just a second.” You turn to Sean and Michelle, and Sean nods to signal your conversation is over. “Uh…okay, then, yeah.” You wave over your shoulder to them as you follow Jake into the hallway.

Jake does not stop in the hall. You follow him, curious, as he leads you down the next corridor to a metal door. He fumbles in his pockets for a moment before producing a card and swiping it through the nearby reader. The door blinks with a green light and slides open, and you are greeted by a beautiful room adorned with modern decorations; tables and chairs fill the carpeted floor and artistic lights of colorful glass hang from the ceiling. A private lounge, from the looks of it.

“Wow,” you say simply.

Jake grins. “You like?”

“Sure, but…” you slip inside the door and glance around the room at the expansive bar and lavender décor. “Well, how did you get in here?”

Jake follows you inside, the door sliding closed behind him. “When one is behind the front desk and there is a set of cards labelled ‘Private Bar Lounge,’ one does not simply ignore them.”

“I suppose you make a good point.” You spin in a slow circle, finally resting your eyes back on Jake. “Any good shit behind that bar?”

He chuckles. “I’m so glad you asked.” Walking over to the bar, he vaults effortlessly over it and lands on the other side without knocking anything over. You laugh and pull up a stool, leaning your elbows forward on the bar with your chin in your hands.

“What’s your poison?” he prompts.

“Surprise me,” you say.

He grins. “Okay. You asked for this.”

You lose track of how much alcohol goes into the drink Jake mixes, but when he finally slides it across the bar to you and you take a sip, you can immediately quantify it as _a lot_. “Strong stuff,” you cough out, feeling the drink burn the back of your throat. “Sure this isn’t _actual_  poison? Like, the shit they use on rats?”

“Hah, hah.” Jake leans across the bar opposite you, and you glance up to see him very close to you. Slowly, you lean back a few inches.

“Jake…”

“Yeah?” he prompts, lurid eyes following your movements.

“You didn’t just bring me here to show me this bar. What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Jake leans back now as well, scanning the top of the bar as if his next words are etched into the wood there. “To be honest, it kinda had to do with that conversation you had earlier.”

“What, with Sean?” you ask, tensing slightly.

“Yeah.” He sees you tense up and smiles. “Hey, chill. I wasn’t listening in or anything.”

“Sure sounds like it,” you reply indignantly.

“All I know,” he replies, meeting your gaze firmly, “is that you felt the need to apologize for something that wasn’t even your fault. I know I can be a bit of an ass. Doesn’t mean you should have to go around apologizing to people for me.”

“Look, I know this is tough for you,” you say, taking a long, slow breath. “This…whole situation on this island. But everyone else here is in the same boat. I want to support you, but it’s hard when you’re not making the effort to get along with anyone else.” You look at him and sigh. “God, you look so guilty, don’t make that face. I’m the one who’s been willing to alienate myself from the group for you.”

“I wanted to thank you for that,” he says softly. You look at him in surprise. “I realized back there…when you didn’t back me up, that I’d been taking for granted having you on my side all the time. I’m so used to answering only to myself that I didn’t even think about how I was dragging you down with me. Having someone like you there to support me, even when I was digging myself into a trench, was just…something I’ve never had before.”

“I want to be there for you,” you agree, unable to meet his eyes as he stares at you.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says.

“Can you be a little nicer, then? To help me with that?”

“I think I can swing it,” he agrees.

“Great.” You hop down from your bar stool, taking your glass with you, and take another hesitant sip of the drink. “Oh god. It still burns.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t drink that,” Jake replies, taking the glass from you and setting it down on the bar. “I don’t really remember everything I put in there, but it probably could poison an actual rat.”

You laugh. “Nervous about apologizing to me, were you?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know it’s very emasculating for me to admit I’m wrong. I don’t make a habit of it.” He chuckles.

“Really?” You loop around the back of the bar, stepping up close to him, and peer up at him through slightly narrowed eyes. He watches you move with a small grin which widens as you get closer. “I happen to find a man who can apologize to be very sexy.”

Jake raises an eyebrow at you. “Good to know,” he says. “I’ll have to do it more often, then.”

“Hm.” You want to touch him but aren’t sure you can. Will he pull away? Will he not want you? Each of you waits for the other to make the first move. Your eyes dart from his face to his shoulders, playing scenarios through your head in which you spring on him. Each time, the imaginary you is timid and awkward. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to do it with confidence. You don’t allow yourself to hesitate when you plant your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, stopping only when his head touches against the wall.

“Huh,” he says at your sudden show of force, and you move in as close as you can without touching him.

“Ooh. I kinda like seeing you embarrassed,” you admit, and his cheeks redden a little. “Yeah, like that.” You lean in close and plant a tender kiss to his cheek, right in front of his ear. “Aww, sorry. You okay?”

“Princess, I have rarely been better,” he assures you, breathing out shakily.

You pause a moment, quietly filtering air through your slightly parted lips, feeling each exhale fan softly across his face. His smell coats your tongue, fills your nose and lungs like smoke. A cigarette you breathe in and gently blow out, an effect that lingers on after.

“I…” he begins, quiet. Not wanting to break the spell that hangs over the air, the photographic stillness.

“What?” you ask him, glancing through hooded eyes.

“I want you,” he breathes out, eyes searching. There’s fear in his face, as though he’s said the wrong thing, covering over a desire he worries he is wrong to have. You press a hand to his cheek and softly kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Then have me,” you reply, your voice a whispering of breath from between your teeth. Relief washes his features, followed by a slow smile.

“Really?”

“Really,” you assure.

He flips you, pressing your back to the wall, mouth hot against your lips as he bears down on you, a torrent of heat and desire. His hands begin cupping your jaw, then slowly trail down, down, worshipping the curves of your waist and hips, the fingers of one hand twining with yours, lifting it above your head and pressing it to the wall. The heat flushes your whole body, making every piece of clothing feel too warm, every kiss setting you ablaze, a personal furnace. Jake feels your heat radiating, acquiesces immediately when you move your free hand to the hem of his shirt and begin a futile attempt to lift it. He releases your captive hand and shrugs off his jacket, and you seize the opportunity to help him peel the shirt over his head with both hands. He laughs to see the flush over your face and collar, moves his hand to the elastic strap on your left shoulder, slides it to the side and down, presses a single kiss to the divot of your collarbone. His warm mouth moves up to your neck, leaving another lingering kiss, then moves just below your ear, where he bites, taking too much flesh in his teeth to pinch you painfully, but enough to leave a sizable bruise. You yelp a little, surprised, one knee lifting off the ground and bumping against the side of Jake’s leg. A step ahead, he catches it and holds it to him, using the opportunity to press even closer against you.

You groan softly, a voluntary noise to let him know he’s doing well. He strings a flowering necklace of small bruises around your neck with each gentle bite, taking pains to kiss each one afterward. As if sucking away venom, this somehow relieves you of any pain. You would ask him to stop, to remind him that it’s too hot on this island to cover the hickeys with a scarf, but you almost don’t care who sees them. An excitement fills you at the prospect of sharing, of presenting your proof of this glorious moment to Diego, to Michelle. You push both from your mind as Jake presses a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“Keep groaning like that and someone will hear us,” he warns, though he doesn’t sound particularly concerned.

“Sorry. I’ll find something else to do with my mouth, I guess,” you reply, and feel him shudder a little against your body. Before he can remove the finger he’s pressed to your lips, you take it into your mouth, suckling on it dutifully. Another shudder wracks his body. You lift your hand and guide another of his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, running your tongue over and between them. A soft humming picks up in the back of your throat. Your eyelids flutter closed, enjoyment etched across them.

“You’re slaying me, Princess,” he groans, as you pop his fingers out of your mouth. “Holy shit.”

“We’ve barely even started, Top Gun,” you assure him.

Hands on his forearms, you disentangle yourself from him and flip again so he’s pressed against the wall. Jake tries to protest, but you hush him by sinking to your knees, placing a trail of kisses over his stomach and tracing a jagged white scar along his hip with a single forefinger.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Long story,” he replies. “Though the short version is ‘I’m not great at making friends.’ But I guess you already knew that.”

You laugh a little. “Our current situation provides evidence to the contrary.”

“Oh, jeez. If you were hoping we had any chance of continuing to call this a friendship then we probably should’ve stopped about ten minutes ago.”

A laugh. Then: “we’re officially more than friends?”

He throws his hands out, feigning surprise. “I thought that was implied, Princess.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He looks at you for a long moment, seeming to gauge whether he should ask. After a pause, he decides, you suspect, to save it for later.

“Hey, Jake?”

“Hmm.”

You stroke your thumb along his hip scar, pressing your chin against his stomach and looking up at him from your spot on the floor. “Do you want to maybe take this upstairs?”

He slides to his knees in front of you, eyes leveling with your own. “It’s a good idea in theory,” he agrees. “Though I doubt I could comfortably walk that far.”

The heat returns to your body as you’re once again reminded of how this began, with a firecracker explosion of desire and a searing kiss. He hadn’t just wanted to kiss you, and you’d felt it in that moment. What _had_ you been planning to do down there, on your knees? You think on how you slipped his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them hungrily, as he watched and his body quaked. You place your hands on either side of his head and fold your fingers into his hair.

“I’ll strike you a deal. If I help you solve that problem right now,” you say, eyes tracking down despite yourself, “you’re going to come with me and stay at mine tonight.”

“That certainly sounds like a win-win,” he concedes.

“I thought it might,” you agree.

You resign yourself with the promise of more fun to follow, then readjust so you’re sitting on his lap with Jake underneath you, back to the wall. You share several more heady kisses before pulling back to catch your breath. There's a soreness in your upper lip, the one he seems to enjoy biting the most, and know there’s going to be a bruise in the morning, but push the thought from your mind as your hands move to his belt, flexing the fabric out of the buckle, deft fingers unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper on his jeans, plying apart the fabric of his waistband.

Gaze unwavering, steadily meeting his eyes, you raise your right hand to your mouth and spit into your palm. Jake’s face is pallid in the bar lights, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he rests his hands on your thighs.

A reedy gasp instantly leaves his throat, the insistent drag of your warm fingers causing his nails to sink into your thighs. Your hand does more for him than you could have imagined – clearly, though he’s loathe to admit it, it’s been a while since he’s done this. He seizes in your grip, huffs short breaths when you quicken your pace, groans into your mouth when you lean to kiss him again.

He growls against your mouth in warning, teeth sinking into your lower lip. An unneeded courtesy - you can feel each muscle in his body tense, a tightly-wound coil about to snap. He unravels embarrassingly fast, coating your hand and wrist with fluid, his body as suddenly slack as it was rigid the moment before. Your kiss slows as you coax him through the high, turning almost affectionately tender, and his palms flatten to stroke your thighs before dropping back to the floor.

You break apart in the low bar lights, breaths mingling, cheeks flushed, silently understanding. Now you've done this, there's no going back to the tense friendship of the preceding weeks. No more feigning disinterest, no more kicking down your desire to the depths of your mind. The sound of the air conditioning whirring above you is the only sound in the room for a slow beat. 

“Shit,” Jake mutters at last, glancing down, breaking you from your thoughts. “Sorry, your hand’s a goddamn mess.”

You’re reluctant to stand, but you rise from your perch across his thighs and move to grab a cocktail napkin from the bar, wiping the back of your hand clean before tossing the napkin in a black garbage bin under the counter. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

He breathes out heavily. “You’re the best.”

“So I’m told,” you reply, offering a hand. “Think you can walk a bit now?”

He barks a laugh. _“If it’s back to your place, Princess, I’ll fucking sprint.”_

**Author's Note:**

> So I skipped my science lecture for this??? I'm a human disaster  
> Anyway. I may add a second chapter later on; I guess we'll see how it goes. I have no real itinerary for my next few weeks at school but I may find some time to squeeze in a little more...ahem, 'fun' writing.  
> I love this whole fandom and I'm gifting this to all of you. I hope at least one person maybe sort of does not hate it. Find me on tumblr at katpixelberry! I may start taking requests.


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